


untitled joanlock friendship fic

by tjm07



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, i tried i really did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 02:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjm07/pseuds/tjm07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>joan hasn't been sleeping well. also, sherlock's an asshole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled joanlock friendship fic

**Author's Note:**

> in which i attempt to break into elementary fic writing. unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine!

Mornings at the Holmes residence can go one of two ways.

A) Joan awakes to the sound of Sherlock doing  _something_. Messing around with pots and pans, answering a phone call loudly, reciting lines from movies aloud, blasting obscure rock music from god knows what time period, etc etc. It's not a bad way to wake up - different, but not bad; the only time it's bad is on Sunday mornings, the one day Joan gets to actually sleep in without worrying about whatever case(s) the NYPD has lined up for them.

(She lied. It's a terrible way to wake up. Sherlock's an asshole. Excuse her French.)

B) Joan stirs at the sound of Sherlock rummaging through her closet. She drifts back to sleep again, only to be woken by heaps of clothes - her  _own_  clothes - dropped on her face as Sherlock rambles on about the 'integrity' of a case.

(She can't be too sure what he was rambling about. She was half asleep.)

Naturally, she's going to put them on - the least that  _asshole_  could do is avert his eyes, which is what he does, thank god - and grumble about it for a good two hours. 

(The one time Sherlock had tried to mock her nagging she gave him a look so severe it practically melted the self-satisfied smirk off his face.  _Asshole_.)

So it's safe to say that Joan hasn't been getting a good amount of sleep. This can be further evidenced by the fact that she falls asleep at the scene of a very interesting crime - she almost keels over before Detective Bell holds her upright and leads her to a bench, side-eyeing Sherlock all the while. 

Sherlock, unsurprisingly, pays them no mind. Bell taps him on the shoulder in the middle of a rant and he turns around momentarily before continuing to talk at him, and it takes around 5 minutes to get him to pay attention to Joan. 

"Sherlock, your partner's not feeling well. We'll take it from here." Before he can interrupt, Bell goes on. "I promise to call you with any updates about the case. Go."

Which brings them to this bench, Joan clearly indisposed, Sherlock alert and grumpy. It's not long before Joan has her head on Sherlock's shoulder, and Sherlock's looking at her like he doesn't quite know what to do with her.

Bell watches them from a distance and tries not to smile. 

/

Joan wakes up to the feel of Sherlock fidgeting under her head. She opens her eyes and darts to the left, getting as far away from him as possible. 

"How long have I been out?" 

"45 long, excruciating minutes." Sherlock jumps up, dusting his shoulder off as he does. Joan tries not to look offended - she did hold him back from a mind-baffling case, after all.

Mind-baffling cases are his favorite kind of cases. 

He hands her a cup of tea - green, the way she likes it - and she thanks him. "Don't do it again," he says. She doesn't comment, and they walk back to the NYPD - not together, as Sherlock remains two steps ahead of her and she tries not to fall over. 

/

Pictures of the crime scene litter the walls of the living room. Joan tries to wrack her brain, but she discovers that not have a spatial layout for the crime scene in her mind really does affect her performance. Her hair's wrapped in a bun on top of her head, held together by a pencil; Sherlock snipes that away and begins taking notes. 

"Hey! I was using that!"

"Oh I'm sorry, Watson. I figured that this pencil will probably of more use to me than you've been in this case." 

It's a cruel jape, one that drives her upstairs for the night, muttering under her breath as she goes.

/

The next morning, Sherlock's rudely awakened by a pair of boots falling around his crotch region. He jerks up in pain, only to see Joan in front of him, fully dressed and smirking. 

"Detective Bell called me."

"And?"

"Well, you better get dressed."

He's almost certain he hears her mutter the word 'asshole' under her breath. 

/ 

She's rude to him all day. Well, as rude as Joan can be, anyway. 

He won't deny that he deserves it, to an extent; he regretted what he'd said right after he'd said it, but he wasn't thinking straight. The case was definitely frustrating him - in a good way, to be sure, but frustrating him nonetheless.

But her payback is not kind, or gentle. Far from it, actually. He thought she was done with him after the near-fatal injury done to his groin - he still can't walk straight, and he kind of hates her for it - but as soon as he's dressed and ready he realizes that payback is far from over.

She thrusts a cup of scalding hot coffee into his palms after he complains about being exhausted and he almost drops it. Too hot.

She then races him to Captain Gregson's office, even closing the elevator doors before he gets in. 

The biggest blow, though - one he didn't expect himself to care about - is that she shares all her observations with Detective Bell and Captain Gregson before him.

Don't get him wrong; he's happy she's making progress - her own progress. Watson's a bright student, one of his brightest proteges, and some of the observations she's making even slipped past his own immaculate radar. But he and Watson, well - they're a team; he's never had a teammate before. Forgive him for being selfish. 

He never thought he'd like having a teammate, someone to share his techniques with - sure, he's had students of his craft in the past, but none straddled the line between protege and partner the way Watson does. Over the course of a few months, however, he's realized that Watson does make him better; what it is about her, however, that makes him better is beyond him.

It's definitely a mind-baffling case - his favorite kind of case - and it's one that he'd rather explore without trying to solve. 

(It occurs to him later on that the line Watson's straddling - or walking on, depending on how he looks at it - is friendship. He can't believe he's been too thick to notice.) 

/

When they get home he runs a bath, soaking himself in lukewarm water. He notices the razor on the sink - a razor that doesn't belong to him - and sure enough, she cracks the door open around ten minutes later to let him know that she's headed out, averting her eyes when she sees him in the bath.

"You're not my sober companion anymore, Watson. You can come and go as you please."

She mumbles something incoherent and slips out, leaving him with his own thoughts. 

/

When she waltzes in at 1 am, hair disheveled and eyes glossy, all his suspicions are confirmed.

Watson had a date tonight.

Not that it’s any of his business, really. He just notices these things. It’s a blessing and a curse – on one hand, it helps him with one of his favorite past-times – crime- or case-solving – but on the other it helps him notice things like this, and he feels like an intruder.

Oh well. Secrecy’s another talent of his, too.

/

Watson wakes up slightly disoriented the next morning. She's rested - a night out with a good friend does that to you - and she notices that the blinds are closed, the way they always are, but something seems out of place. She stays horizontal and closes her eyes again, relishing the feeling of –

Wait.

There are no noises coming from downstairs. No pots, no pans, no phone, no movie lines. She cracks an eye open and looks at her closet. No Sherlock in her closet. No Sherlock anywhere, in fact; the house is only ever this silent when he's not around.

She pulls her phone towards her. 9:37 am.

Where the hell is Sherlock?

/

Asshole left her a note. A goddamn note.

> _Watson,_
> 
> _Please accept my absence for the time being as an apology._
> 
> _I expect you to be fully prepared to leave at the same time as me tomorrow morning._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Sherlock Holmes_

Watson doesn’t know whether to find the apology downright endearing or the demand right after it infuriating. On one hand, he did realize that he was being an ass (about time, too) but on the other, he's still the same old goddamn Sherlock. She decides to do neither. Sherlock is what he is - he doesn't have a problem admitting he's wrong about something; she's seen him do it a couple of times without breaking a sweat. He does, however, have a problem with human relationships in general, which is why she knows that it did take him a tremedous amount of effort to leave such an empathetic note behind. 

(Well. Not exactly empathetic. But she's going to take what she can get.)

She decides to do something nice in return. Not organize his things; she did that once and he raged about it for an entire week. Laundry, perhaps; she puts on a pair of sweatpants and a ragged, oversized t-shirt and gets working.

/

Sherlock’s not sure how he feels about the fact that Watson greeted him at the door.

She looks as stiff and awkward as he does. At least he's in no danger of being hugged. They stand at awkward angles to each other, avoiding eye contact.

It's Watson who breaks the ice. “I did your laundry. And cleaned out the fridge. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Thank you, Watson.” 

/

Next morning they head to the NYPD together, side-by-side.

 

**Author's Note:**

> leave feedback! thank you for reading!


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